This past weekend, mom and Lorelei and I went for a girls’ day out for shopping and such out of town.  After circling the Cracker Barrel parking lot 5 times, hoping a parking spot would magically appear – we finally gave up and moved onwards.  Finally, we settled at the Golden Corral.  Yeh, yeh.  I know.

Sure, the cluster of rat tails and mullets surely did amuse me – but, mostly because I figured I’d have seen that sort of thing in a more “country” setting than the city we had chosen for our weekend “shopping” excursion (which mostly consisted of going to Target because OUR town hasn’t one).  We ate quickly and were soon on our way.

Lorelei and I made our way to the exit area – a small walkway located beside the cashier/hostess – and waited against the wall for mom to finish up.  In front of us stood 2 girls – somewhere around my age – and a guy who was with them, but I’m not sure if it was in the “brother” or “boyfriend” sort of way.  Or both.  You couldn’t really tell.

One girl, a pretty brunette with her hair pulled in a ponytail called the guy over and asked him if he’d carry the tray and plates.  Actually, although it was in question form, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t really an inquiry.  With a slight nod, he moves away from the wall and towards the girl as she abruptly pulls his face closer to hers, bursting forth some urgent whispers.

He chuckles and looks our way.

Must be something on the wall behind me, I rationalize.

She nudges him and says something more to him.  This time, he looks directly at me and then quickly away.

Then, she glances in my direction.

F*ing wall.  I’m pretty positive it is indeed not the wall.  Oh my gosh.  Did a huge zit erupt on my forehead and swallow my eyebrows? I feel for a bump, or a lesion maybe.  No.  Nothing. I sniff quickly, wondering if a booger was dangling from my nostril, like a tiny bungee jumper.  Nada.

The second girl, petite with blonde curls, pats the brunette’s back obviously wanting in on the big secret.  The brunette turns to her, whisper in her ear and the brunette looks at me.  Again.  As does the blonde.  She smirks, turns around and then moves her chin back over her shoulder, her eyes peering down behind her back towards my daughter.

At that moment, I realized their conversation topic.

“Could you be a little more OBVIOUS?!”  I said, their expressions turning to shock and gazes dropping.

Turns out, there were no boogers.  Turns out, I really do look young – which gets to be a little awkward when you’re pregnant…and look like you’re 16.  So, I decided to set the story straight.

I’m not 16, I’m 12.

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